“Did he hit either of them?”
“No. He had the turtle in both hands and was shrugging them off. I banged my hand against the house a few times, making enough noise to distract him so he’d run outside and Mrs. Barrett could save the turtle, you know? I got the heck out of there and ran back to the road before he could see me. That’s when I made the call.”
“Son of a bitch,” Paul grumbled. “I could go back there and get him on animal-cruelty charges.”
Riley shot her a look of desperation, and Peggy spoke up. “Paul, don’t get the MSPCA involved. I’m telling you right now, neither Mrs. Barrett nor the daughter will corroborate Riley’s story. If they didn’t tell you the truth while you were there, that means they’re too afraid to go against him. There’s already an open case with the Department of Children and Families, and we’re working closely with the caseworker. The most that will come out of Riley having witnessed the turtle incident is that Jim Barrett will want to know what his wife’s new therapist was doing on his property.”
He looked at Riley. “You’re Mrs. Barrett’s therapist?”
“Not now. I mean I was. That was the plan. But it turns out I know her. Our families both had houses up in Lenox years ago. Her father has a church up there, and my parents had a cabin on the lake for several years. I hadn’t seen or heard from Fiona since high school, but we were…um…very close back then.”
Paul raised his brow and looked between Riley and Peggy, seeming to understand what that implied. He knew they both were gay. Paul, Doris, and Miriam had attended her and Barbara’s wedding. But she hadn’t expected Riley to divulge that information. Riley wasn’t one to disclose more than was needed, and Peggy assumed Riley had a reason for letting her history with Fiona be known.
“I didn’t recognize her last name when Miriam first scheduled her,” Riley said to him. “It used to be Bell. Peggy is seeing Edy, the daughter, and I intended to work with the wife, but when it turned out I knew her, we decided that Peggy would take them both. Meanwhile, Jim Barrett was ordered to attend anger management.”
“How’d he end up with that farmhouse, anyway? As far as I know, Dennis didn’t have any family.”
“Jim’s his long-lost nephew.”
“Huh.” Paul finished his coffee and set the cup down. “I didn’t like him one bit.”
“Who?” Peggy asked.
“Jim. Never cared for Dennis either. He was fined a few times for trapping off season. Not only trapping, but using legholds. He’d set them up on state land, go off on a drinking binge, and forget to come back. Some bird-watcher found a raccoon carcass in one. Poor thing had been there over a week. Half chewed its arm off trying to get loose before it died. Imagine that?”
“I can’t,” Peggy said.
“People will tell you those legholds are humane, and that the state shouldn’t prohibit them, but they are not.” Paul rubbed a thumb across his chin and shook his head, his lips curling in something of a self-deprecating smirk. “Embarrassing story,” he said, “but I got my own fingers stuck in one last year. Me and Doris were at one of those antique flea markets. You know she likes to collect old kitchen utensils—all those Depression-glass orange juicers, antique ladles, ice cream scoopers, stuff like that.
“While she was pickin’ through a bin, I came across an old rusted trap hanging by a chain. It was a tiny thing, maybe big enough for a fox or weasel. Had to be fifty years old. Didn’t even think the springs would work. I started playing with it, pushed the jaws apart, and they actually locked. The guy at the tent wasn’t around, and it wasn’t safe to leave it set. I put in on the ground, thinking I’d press the lever with my thumb or tip of my shoe, but I touched the plate by accident and—YOW! Damn thing caught two of my fingers.” He shook one of his hands. “I’ve never felt such bone pressure in all my life. Hurt so bad I couldn’t see straight. Whew! It’s not the kind of pain you get used to. Gets worse by the second. Doris heard me let out a yelp. I guess the guy did, too, because he came running over and got it open. I was okay, but man-o-man, that pain was intense.”
Peggy saw Riley’s teeth clench and her jaw tighten like the trap Paul was talking about. She was no doubt thinking of all the animals that had ended up in the Barrett barn.
“Bad enough that he was trapping illegally,” Paul said, “but not checking them every day and leaving an animal there to suffer like that? Takes a cold, heartless person to do that.”
Peggy shook her head. “I think it borders on evil.”
“Oh yeah.” Paul gave a little snort of agreement. “I remember a sermon Reverend Cortez gave not too long ago on the importance of kindness toward all God’s creatures. You know I don’t go every Sunday with Doris, but that day I did, and what stuck with me was something he read from Proverbs. I probably remember the verse only because, well, being in law enforcement I’ve come across my share of evil people. Anyway, it goes something like this. A righteous person is kind to animals, but even the kindest acts of the wicked are cruel.”
Peggy saw Riley perk up. She knew Riley was pretty much an atheist despite her and Barbara’s efforts to get her to go to church. Riley always said that, even if their congregation welcomed gay people and saw homosexuality as a biological, not a moral issue, there was still the matter of her being part animal. And if animals didn’t go to heaven when they died, then why bother believing. Of course, Paul was pointing out that the wicked—all the world’s sociopaths, psychopaths, and corrupt narcissists—are incapable of being kind, even when they think they’re being kind. Their kindest acts are cruel.
“I remember that sermon, too,” Peggy said. “Probably for the same reasons as you, Paul. You catch the perpetrators, and…” She glanced at Riley. “Our profession leaves us to deal with the psychological aftermath of those cruelties.”
Paul got a far-away look in his eyes and sniffled a few times, not that his nose was running. They’d come to learn that he twisted his nose and sniffled when he was pondering something. Peggy knew the conversation was triggering thoughts of his son, who’d died in service. Riley sensed it, too, and quickly pulled him back to the present.
“Well,” Riley jumped in, “I hope Dennis Barrett got caught.”
“Oh, he got caught all right. Believe you me, Dennis had his share of run-ins with the law. My dad knew him as a kid. They went to school together. Dennis was the one always putting gum in the girls’ hair, grabbing a feel when he could, bragging about killing birds with his slingshot. I know my dad got in big trouble for punching him in the nose once or twice.
“Good for your dad. And I really hope Jim Barrett doesn’t plan to keep with family tradition, because only that little bit of state land separates my property from his. If I find traps on my property, I’ll have him arrested.”
“Well now, don’t go jumping the gun. We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Paul said, reverting to his penchant for clichés. “I know you can’t discuss what clients talk about, but keep me posted on what DCF is doing with the case. Like I said, I didn’t care for Dennis, and I don’t care for his nephew. He’s a sweet-talker, that one, but I can smell a liar a mile away. I got a bad feeling about him while I was at the house. And now hearing he broke his own window and outright lied to me—tried to pull the wool over my eyes? Makes me want to go back there and wring his neck. His uncle was a bad seed. And you know what they say. The apple doesn’t fall far from the—”
Miriam rang the phone just then and Peggy picked it up.
“Your client’s here,” she said to Riley, then turned to Paul. “I’m actually expecting Fiona and her daughter in a few minutes. They might get frightened if they walk in and see you here after what went on.”
“Gotcha. I need to head out anyway, so I won’t keep you ladies.”
“Thanks for stopping by, Paul,” she said as they all stood. “And rest assured that we’re working closely with DCF on the case.”
Riley greeted her client and went off to her office, while Paul wiggled his f
ingers in the kittens’ cage and said good-bye to his daughter. “Later, alligator,” he told Miriam.
“See you at home, Dad.”
Peggy walked to the door and watched Paul get in his car, wondering, as she always did, how police officers managed to chase, let alone overtake an assailant with the weight of handcuffs, guns, walkie talkies, and whatever else they had dangling from their waists. She was relieved to see him go, though, because a moment after his car turned out of the parking lot, Fiona pulled in. And coming in behind her was Scott Quigley, their plumber. Miriam had called him earlier to fix a leak under the sink in the break room.
“Fiona and Edy Barrett are here. You can send them in,” she said to Miriam. “And your boyfriend’s here to fix the leak.”
“Scott?” Miriam made a face. “He’s not my boyfriend!”
“He’d like to be.”
“He would not.”
“It’s rather obvious.”
“It is not obvious.”
“Yeah, it is, Miriam.”
“He doesn’t even speak to me.”
“That’s because he’s terribly shy and gets tongue-tied when he sees you.”
“The only thing he shows an interest in are the kittens.”
“He’s interested in the kittens because he’s interested in you. And if I were you, I’d grab him before someone else does.”
Miriam laughed. “I don’t like his ears. They’re too big. He looks like Alfred E. Neuman from MAD Magazine.”
Peggy laughed. “Maybe if someone drew a caricature of him, he might. But he’s got boyish good looks and a full head of hair.”
“If you like red hair.”
“I do, as a matter of fact.” Peggy smirked and fluffed her own reddish hair. “I think his freckles are cute, too,” she teased. “And is he ever clean. What other plumber do you know who puts bags over his dirty shoes when he walks into a place?”
Miriam just shook her head.
“I’m just saying…He’s a nice guy with his own business…and he’s crazy about you.”
Miriam blushed and sucked her teeth. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, yes, I do. Trust me. I’m very good at these things,” Peggy said and sailed into her office with a smirk.
Chapter Thirteen
Riley was lighting the coals out on the deck when she looked down and saw Tom’s car winding up the long driveway. Peggy and Barbara were already there, skewering vegetables for the grill and sipping the frozen margaritas Riley had whipped up in the blender.
“Perfect timing. Tom’s here,” Riley said as she went back in and gave the guacamole in the molcajete a final stir. The face on the three-legged stone bowl was supposed to be a pig’s, or at least that’s what she’d read in the online description, but to Riley it looked more like the face of a chihuahua. She dipped a taco chip and held it to Barbara’s mouth. “Taste. Enough cilantro?”
Barbara moaned her delight as she chewed. Riley dipped another chip, sampling it herself just as the sound of car doors slamming and voices rang out.
Peggy stopped what she was doing and strained to hear over the music. “Who’s he talking to out there?”
Barbara cocked her head and listened, too. “Has he got someone with him?”
Riley peeked through the mudroom and looked out the screen door. “I think it’s your reverend.”
“What?” Barbara said. “Is my brother crazy?”
Riley laughed. “He asked me if he could invite him. I thought he was joking.”
Peggy wiped her hands on a towel, and she and Barbara looked out the door with Riley.
“I don’t believe this,” Peggy whispered.
The reverend stood with his back toward them, waiting for Tom, who was reaching into the backseat, but he didn’t much look like a reverend today. In faded jeans and a tight-fitting white T-shirt that seemed extra bright against his dark skin, David looked more like an outdoorsman than a clergyman. Black, jaw-length hair glistened in the setting sun, his bicep bulging as he raised an arm to comb it back out of his face.
“Hi, guys!” Riley called out just as Tom passed the reverend a bottle of wine and then a clear bag of something in ice. The reverend turned, flashing them a billboard smile, and held up fish he’d apparently caught.
Peggy let out a sigh. “Oh, Lord. GQ meets Field and Stream,” she whispered, and the three of them giggled. The reverend might have been the one who’d gone fishing, but clearly Tom had made the catch of the day.
“Leave it to my brother,” Barbara said.
“Can you blame him?” Riley asked. “If I were a gay man, I’d sleep with him in a heartbeat.”
“How about if you were a straight woman?” Peggy said.
Riley laughed. “I never think in those terms. If I see an attractive man, my first thought is if I were a gay man…”
Balancing a covered dish in one hand, Tom shut the car door and followed the reverend with a devilish grin, raising a fist to his mouth and biting his knuckle the way he always did when he talked about Reverend Cortez. And as Riley opened the door for them, Tom silently mouthed the words, I’m in love.
“Riley, hello! Thanks for the invite,” the reverend said, although Riley wasn’t sure he actually remembered having met her at Peggy and Barbara’s wedding. He held up the bag of fish in offering. “Tom said you were grilling, but I don’t eat red meat,” He gave her a kind of pleading look. “Would you mind throwing these trout on the grill? They’re already cleaned, and there’s plenty for everyone. I was all out of lemons,” he said, “but if you have one, and maybe some butter, I can have them ready to cook in a couple of minutes.”
“Sure, Reverend.”
“Please, call me David,” he said, and handed her a bottle of what looked to be white wine.
Riley didn’t drink the stuff and knew nothing about it except the one simple rule Peggy had taught her. Red meat, red wine; white meat, white wine. She assumed the reverend had brought it to pair with the fish. “Thanks, David. Surf and turf it is. Come on in.” She held the door open, kissing Tom and acknowledging his satisfied grin with a wink as he stepped in behind David.
As soon as David’s hands were free, he opened his arms, taking Peggy in one and Barbara in the other for a group hug, then eyed the bowl of potato salad on the counter. “Did you make that?” he asked Peggy.
“I did. Just before we came. It’s still warm.”
“You make the best. I remember your potato salad from the church picnic. That’s how good it was.”
“Why, thank you,” Peggy said as she opened Riley’s refrigerator to look for a lemon.
“There should be one with the limes in the crisper drawer,” Riley said. With limited culinary skills, she was always more than happy to let her friends take over her kitchen. She poured margaritas for Tom and David, topped off Peggy and Barbara’s drinks, then walked around to the dining room to join Tom at the bar stools facing into the kitchen—the perfect vantage point for watching David prepare the trout. He asked to wash his hands first, and Riley watched Tom ogle the rippling muscles in David’s forearms as he soaped and rinsed them.
“Who made the guacamole?” David asked as he dried his hands with a paper towel.
Riley raised her hand. “Try it.”
David scooped a chip in the bowl and popped it into his mouth, chewing slowly before giving his approval. Riley had to admit that the reverend exuded a raw, almost visceral sensuality. “Excellent!” he said, taking another chip and examining the animal face on the bowl. “I really like this molcajete. I don’t think I’ve ever seen one outside of a Mexican restaurant. Where’d you find it?”
“Online.” Riley and Tom looked at each other with stupid grins. “On Amaze-on!” they said in unison.
“What’s Amaze-on?”
Barbara laughed. “They’re being silly. That’s what these two call Amazon.”
“Because it’s amazing,” Tom said. “If God had a cyber-mall, it would be Amazon. You can
have anything you want in a day or two, with free shipping, free returns, and immediate customer service 24/7. Where else does that happen?” He sucked on the straw in his glass. “Last Saturday morning I ordered a new wall clock, and, I swear to you, six hours later I heard something hit my porch. I jumped up and opened the door, and there was my clock. No delivery man in sight. It was like a drone had dropped it at my door and taken off at the speed of light like some alien ship. I don’t know how they do it.” Tom looked at Riley, and they said in unison, “It’s Amaze-on!”
The reverend gave a hearty laugh, and Peggy chuckled, too. I have to agree that it’s pretty amazing. Aside from the grocery store, and maybe antique shops, I can’t remember the last time Barbara and I shopped in a real store.” She lifted the lid to peek at what Tom had brought. “What did you make, Tom? Pancakes?”
He proudly straightened up on his stool. “Fry bread.”
Barbara, whose culinary skills weren’t far behind Riley’s, scrunched her face. “Fried bread?”
“Fry bread. Made from corn flour.”
David shot him a sideways glance as he stood at the counter, seasoning his trout. “That’s Native American, no?”
“You see?” Tom said. “Even the reverend knows what it is. I got the recipe online…in honor of Riley’s discovery.”
Riley frowned at David. “Our resident geneticist here tested my DNA. It appears I have quite a bit of Native American blood.”
“Really!” David raised his brow and studied her face.
“I know, I know. I don’t look it.”
“No, you don’t. At all. Did you already know, or did it come as a surprise?”
“A huge surprise.”
“Huh! Were you born here in Massachusetts?”
“I was, as a matter of fact. Right here on the A.T.,” she said. That’s what hikers called the Appalachian Trail.
David’s brow raised even higher. “On it?”
“Yep, right on it.”
“Wow! I’m guessing your parents weren’t thru-hikers,” he said jokingly. Thru-hikers were those who started at the beginning of the trail in Georgia and didn’t stop until they reached the other end in Maine. That would have meant Riley’s mother would have spent the better part of her pregnancy on the two-thousand-mile trail.
Coyote Blues Page 24